The Transdyne Awakening (15 page)

The military cockpit had a second row of seating behind the double pilot position. He ran back inside and quickly down the stairs.

Whitney turned around. “Well…?”

“There’s enough room in one of their big glides,” he said. “We’ll need to scupper the i.d. device but it’s all charged and ready.”

“Okay,” Whitney sighed, washing down two more painkillers with a swig from his canteen.

“Let’s get them out,” Clay yelled, helping Skye to her feet again.

Phillip scooped up a child in each arm and made for the stairs.

Joey was carrying a sleeping girl of about ten years old.

Outside again, Clay helped Skye into the cockpit and tucked his tunic around her once more. “Thank God,” he found himself repeating over and over to himself, “Thank God.”

Phillip had already climbed in to the rear bay and Joey was wrapping his tunic around one of the little girls as the others joined him with their charges. Greg and Falkner chairlifted the teenagers up and into the space while Andrew rifled through a medpack for anything useful he might find. Casey and Bradford could go up front on the spare seats with Whitney. Clay would have to keep an eye on them. No one could tell for sure the extent of the damage those beatings may have caused.

Whitney and Clay ran inside for the last time. They checked through the rooms. The cages were all empty and there were no signs of anyone else being held. Yuri still lay rolling around in pain. Whitney pulled Clay away from him. “Leave it!” he said sternly.

In the main entrance room Raftar had come to and was struggling against his cuffs and hobble. Whitney stunned him again as they passed. He stopped moving and slumped under the big table. Clay hit the other goon hard behind the ear with the butt of his weapon. They left them both senseless on the floor. On the way out Clay retrieved cushions and a throw rug from the couches in the main chamber. He hefted them up to Joey in the cargo bay. Whitney felt inside the cockpit of the big glide and tore the tracer chip out from the panelling. Throwing it to the ground, he stomped it into fragments with his combat boots. “Better take care of those,” he barked, raising his pulse weapon again. Striding over to the remaining parked vehicles, he put two full charges into each cockpit, reducing Yuri’s little fleet to scrap. Clay climbed into the cockpit and powered up. Skye was drifting in and out of her drugged haze. He reached over with his left hand and snapped the restrainer belt around her. The big machine lifted up and along the main entranceway without the lights. In the moonlight, he could make out the silhouettes of the trees along the track. Clear of the boundary, he knew which way to head. Beyond the Citizone outskirts, he activated the smaller set of front illuminations and pushed to full power. He was grateful that Phillip had found such a vehicle, but shuddered at the thought of Yuri’s many victims taking this same shuttle to captivity or death.

He glanced back at Whitney. It was obvious that the man was beat, but running on raw willpower.

Clay had never felt so alive. His body ached from the exertions of the last few hours but he was alert and focused. Any exultation he might have felt was muted by the thought of poor Jansen. He wondered just what they had done to him. He checked constantly for any Polibro vehicles until he had put the Megacity well behind them. There was no tracer chip to locate them, and as long as they didn’t run foul of any patrols on the zombie shift, they could head back free.

He turned to look at Skye. She was sleeping now, her head tilted back against the headrest. At that moment he realized fully just what she had come to mean to him. If it was possible at all, he wanted to spend the rest of his life with this woman. He could have put the big terraglide on autonav, but it felt good to be at the controls; to be the one piloting them all back into the outland.

He started to assess his own situation. He must be long overdue back at Ahab’s. He wondered what questions were being asked. How would he account for his extended absence? Somehow, none of it seemed to matter much anymore. He recalled the thoughts he’d had all that time ago, when Joey had disappeared. Joey had simply ceased to be part of the world they had known together. Now that he knew the truth about what had happened, it seemed simple. Joey discarded the life he had come to despise, throwing it off like an old coat. Clay wanted to do the same; like a snake, just shed the skin he had lived in so far. He felt as if his own life, up to the present, had been steered by some sort of invisible autonav inside him. Now, he wanted to switch that off and live his life on ‘manual’. He wanted to make the important decisions for himself, not because someone else had told him what he should do. He had a new reality now, one he didn’t even realize he’d been looking for. The people at ‘The Way’ were his people now. They mattered to him. He cared what happened to them. He cared what happened to Skye. It was like he’d been reborn into a real family.

The dawn streaked the horizon and the sun rose slowly. His eyes were starting to feel sore now. As the full glare of the new day started to burn over the desert landscape, he pulled the shades from the pocket of his work shirt. He thought about some of the things John had told him; the parables from the gospels. He remembered the one about the seeds falling on stony ground. He didn’t think his heart was stony ground any more. He wanted the seeds that had been sown into his life to take root. He wanted that new life. He knew now that there was a meaning beyond what he had known. Life was more than stacking up credits and satisfying his appetites. There had been another story about a merchant looking for fine pearls. Clay had seen some of those on jewellery in Ahab’s collection. When the merchant had found a really beautiful pearl, he had understood its worth. In the story he had sold everything to make it his. Clay felt like he had found something like that pearl and, like the man in the story, he would be happy to trade everything to possess it.

He felt as if he was waking from one of his troubling childhood dreams. Everything was falling back into focus. This was where he belonged and he was grateful to be here again. Somehow, everything seemed more real. While their passengers were being examined and patched up in the M.I. room, he sat outside with Whitney, Phillip and Joey.

He looked across at Whitney. “Thanks for what you did,” he said.

John came out of the treatment room. “You must be Whitney. We are all grateful to you. Credits can be transferred whenever you’d like. I guess, right now, you need a rest. We’ve set up a berth for you. There’s hot food. Tell the men anything else you might need.” Whitney nodded. “Thanks.”

Skye emerged unsteadily from her checkup on the arm of a medtech. Clay helped her settle into a seat.

“So?” he asked.

“I’ll be fine. Cuts and bruises. It feels as if it will take a while for this to wear off,” she slurred. She glanced down at the floor for a long time before she spoke again. “You know, those men knew exactly where we would be. Someone at that camp had told them everything. We made the meet with Ivan and Therese. We were already on the way back when they stopped us.”

“Ivan and Therese?”

“Yes, those are their names - the two from the camp. This was not an isolated incident. There is a network in those camps feeding people to the traffickers.” “What happened to them?”

“I don’t know. They drugged me up. I remember Jansen fighting with a big man and Ivan trying to protect Therese….. then nothing ‘til I was in that cage where you found me.”

Berta came alongside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

“Get some more sleep. Come on. You can talk about it later, eh?”

She helped Skye get slowly to her feet and walked her away.

Clay shook his head, weary now. “I’ve got to sleep, too.”

Whitney and the others rose from their seats. They stood, looking at each other for a moment, their tired faces still dark with camouflage. “Quite a trip!” Joey observed. He turned to Whitney. “Come on, I’ll show you your cot.” Clay followed them to his own guest berth. It was all he could do to wash off the camouflage and sweat before he turned in. Ripping off his boots, he lay back and quickly sank into deep sleep.

He must have been out for a decent interval. He felt recharged as he sat up on the cot. Whitney was already awake. Sitting on the side of his berth, he was fastening his high combat boots. “Morning,” he grunted, as he finished pulling the straps tight. “Any food around here?”

“Sure,” Clay yawned. “I’ll come with you.”

The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted up the corridor from the dining area. Most folks had already left. Three of Berta’s crew were noisily cleaning up. Whitney and Clay filled up their drinkers and sat at one of the vacant benches together.

“They all been checked? They going to be okay?” Whitney asked, sipping his drink. “Well, I want to check the details, but I think so,” Clay told him. John appeared and placed a small comp on the bench. “Got something for you. Joey tells me this should about cover your expenses. Please check.” Whitney turned the readout to face him. He whistled gently. “Very generous. Thanks.” He tapped the comp. “This looks like quite a place.” He gave a faint smile and took another mouthful from his drinker.

“I guess if you showed me the full set up you’d have to kill me, right?”

“You’ve done us an amazing service,” John said. “I figure that if you were going to turn us in you’d have done it long before now. Get something to eat and I’ll be pleased to show you around.”

“What’s the damage?” Clay asked.

John looked serious. “Casey’s really in a bad way. We just hope he’s not too busted up internally. Those people really hurt him. If he wasn’t such a tough specimen, I reckon he’d be dead.”

“The kids all right?”

“Time will tell. Who knows, with what they’ve been through? Those kinds of scars can take a while to heal over, but we know a great physician, eh? Anyhow, they’ve got a place here as long as they need it. We’ll take it one step at a time.” Clay went over to the serving area and washed a piece of toasted bread down with the dregs of his coffee. “See you later,” he called to Whitney and John.

Clay knocked gently on the door of Skye’s quarters and waited.

“It’s not locked,” she called out drowsily from inside.

She was still on the somacot, awake and propped up on some pillows. “How are you feeling now?” he asked.

“A little better, thanks.” She smiled, reaching for a drinker from a small locker beside her. She took a sip and sat up further, adjusting the covers around her waist. She was wearing a light T-tunic and the bruises on her bare arms were starting to go yellow. The sight of them made him angry again. “I should have finished that creep off. Whitney stopped me,” Clay said, almost to himself. She noticed his staring and pulled the top cover up over her arms. “Well it’s good that you don’t have a killing on your conscience.”

“Yeah, Whitney left him in a world of pain, but the scum’s alive.”

“Yes, and while he’s alive there’s still hope for him. God loves people, Clay - even the Yuris of this world.”

“I don’t see how you can believe that after what he intended for you, Skye. That monster wanted to sell you like a piece of meat. You were going to be used and then discarded.”

Skye’s expression was thoughtful. She spoke slowly.

“Don’t misunderstand me, Clay. God hates what Yuri does, but He loves Yuri as much as he loves you. Right now he’s headed straight for hell, but Christ offers him the same as he offers you. When God draws a person to Himself they can be miraculously changed. Look at the man Saul and how God changed him!”

“Wasn’t he some kind of oldtime king?” Clay asked.

“No, not that one.” Skye pointed to the locker beside her bed. “Pass me that Bible, would you? Let me read this to you.” Clay could never get over how beautiful he found those oldtime books.

The volume was leather bound. The gold letters on the spine and cover caught the light, sparkling as he handed it to her. He loved to hear her read out loud with her slight Russian accent. She sat up and adjusted the pillows behind her. Then, turning to the passage she said, “This is from the book called the “Acts of the Apostles” reading from chapter Nine:

‘
Meanwhile, Saul was still breathing out murderous threats against the Lord’s disciples. He went to the high priest and asked him for letters to the synagogues in Damascus, so that if he found any there who belonged to the Way, whether men or women, he might take them as prisoners to Jerusalem.’

Clay interrupted. “The Way? Does it say that the early believers were called The Way?”

“Yes, that’s right” Skye said.

Clay grinned. “That’s what this place is called; The Way.”

Skye smiled back at him.

“Not much is really that different. The people who started this settlement used the book we’re reading from as the pattern, hence the name. We live much as they did. They faced the same things that we do now. You should study right through the The Book of Acts. It describes a community where everyone contributed and prayed and looked out for one another. They had to contend with Roman government. We have to contend with World Dominion.”

She paused for a moment before she went on reading;

‘As he neared Damascus on his journey, suddenly a light from heaven flashed around him. He fell to the ground and heard a voice say to him, “Saul, Saul, why do you persecute me?” “Who are you, Lord?” Saul asked. “l am Jesus, whom you are persecuting,” he replied. “Now get up and go into the city, and you will be told what you must do.” The men travelling with Saul stood there speechless; they heard the sound but did not see anyone. Saul got up from the ground, but when he opened his eyes he could see nothing. So they led him by the hand into Damascus. For three days he was blind, and did not eat or drink anything. ln Damascus there was a disciple named Ananias. The Lord
called to him in a vision, “Ananias!” “Yes, Lord,” he answered.

The Lord told him, “Go to the house of Judas on Straight Street and ask for a man from Tarsus named Saul, for he is praying. In a vision he has seen a man named Ananias come and place his hands on him to restore his sight.” “Lord,” Ananias answered, “I have heard many reports about this man and all the harm he has done to your saints in Jerusalem. And he has come here with authority from the chief priests to arrest all who call on your name.” But the Lord said to Ananias, “Go! This man is my chosen instrument to carry my name before the Gentiles and their kings and before the people of Israel. I will show him how much he must suffer for my name.” Then Ananias went to the house and entered it. Placing his hands on Saul, he said, “Brother Saul, the Lord - Jesus, who appeared to you on the road as you were coming here has sent me so that you may see again and be filled with the Holy Spirit.” Immediately, something like scales fell from Saul’s eyes, and he could see again. He got up and was baptized, and after taking some food, he regained his strength. Saul spent several days with the disciples in Damascus. At once he began to preach in the synagogues that Jesus is the Son of God. All those who heard him were astonished and asked, “Isn’t he the man who raised havoc in Jerusalem among those who call on this name? And hasn’t he come here to take them as prisoners to the chief priests?”
Yet Saul grew more and more powerful and baffled the Jews living in Damascus by proving that Jesus is the Christ.”